


kill for a wednesday

by ienablu



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode: s03e11 Mystery Spot, Gen, Time Loop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-08
Updated: 2011-09-08
Packaged: 2017-12-31 14:03:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1032543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ienablu/pseuds/ienablu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tuesday doesn't reset on Dean's death, but at 11:59. </p><p>Where Sam lives the whole day, regardless of when Dean dies, how many of Dean's deaths are Sam-inflicted?</p>
            </blockquote>





	kill for a wednesday

**Author's Note:**

  * For [twoskeletons (Las)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Las/gifts).



> Originally posted at Las' LJ, where she brought up the possibility of Mystery Spot Tuesdays lasting all day for Sam, and after she asked "How many of Dean's deaths are Sam-inflicted?"

The clock reads 12:02 AM.

Sam looks over at Dean -- Dean, who is alive, and breathing, and safe, and _still alive._

There's still another minute to go until it's actually midnight, the clock in the Impala has always been three minutes slow, when Dean rebuilt her he didn't bother to fix it, but he has the chance to now, because it's almost Wednesday and he's still alive.

His brother is alive, his brother is alive, the past few days most of the deaths have been before noon and he's had to have spent the rest of the day waiting for the reset, but not now, not anymore, Sam is staring openly now, because Dean is _alive._

A light floods over Dean's face, followed by a look of horror. "Sam!"

Sam looks back to the road. He's momentarily blinding by the oncoming headlights, and he tries to jerk the car from where it's strayed into the other lane, but it's too late -- there's a shriek of metal and a shatter of glass and Dean dies on impact.

(After twelve Tuesdays, Sam knows.)

His vision blurs -- from frustrated tears, or from blood dripping down his eyes, or from the impact -- but he still sees the clock flip to 12:03 AM, before he blacks out.

\- -

"You're driving, right?" Sam asks, worried, the next morning, as they head towards the Impala.

"Why wouldn't I be?" Dean asks.

 _Because I killed you last night_ , Sam thinks, and then he stops short, realizing that he had killed his brother last night. Accidentally, but that doesn't assuage the guilt.

= =

A month of Tuesdays have passed.

Sam has started systematically going through any book in the library that might be remotely helpful in breaking time loops, or deals with demons.

Dean is consistently bored by this plan.

"I don't see why you think researching mystery spots will do you any good," Dean complains as they sit in the minuscule town library. "If the place is supposed to be so mysterious, and there's something really wrong with the place, you're not gonna find it in a book."

"Then why don't you go check it out?" Sam suggests, still reading about the tenuous relationship between bent space-time and wormholes.

It's not until half an hour later that Sam realizes that Dean is gone, that Sam realizes it's after-hours and he just sent Dean to go get shot by the Mystery Spot owner.

Guilt gnaws at his stomach for a few long moments, and he tries to tell himself that it doesn't matter, tries to tell himself that it was bound to happen anyway, tries to tell himself that it's normal to feel that much relief.

= =

He calls Ruby. It takes a few Tuesdays for her to get to him _(Sorry Sammy, I'm in the middle of something, I can be there tomorrow night) (Sorry Sammy, I'm in the middle of something, I can be there tomorrow morning)_ (I know you're in the middle of something, Ruby, but I don't care. I need you, get over here, now.)

"You do realize that I had to haul ass to get here from Tulsa, right?" Ruby asks, as she swans into the room.

Dean looks up from the trashy TV show he was watching. His eyes narrow, and he stands up. "What's she doing here?"

"Sam called me this morning," Ruby replies, crossing her arms.

"Do we have to go through this?" Sam asks, not looking up from his laptop. 

Apparently they do, because although he tunes out most of what they're saying, Sam hears them trading barbs.

When Ruby mentions that she's taking Sam to try and find a way to get Dean out of the deal, the yelling only escalates.

"Could you please stop yelling--" Sam tries, but if anything it only gets worse.

Then Dean punches Ruby.

Ruby snaps his neck.

Sam barely flinches. (Next to car crashes, dropped pianos, axe wounds, dog bites, electrocution, yelps and cries and screams of pain, the quick snap of cervical vertebrae is almost welcome.)

Dean crumples to the ground, and Ruby looks at Sam, almost nervous.

Sam just closes his laptop and slides it into his messenger bag. "I would appreciate it if we could get to the bookstore before they close."

"Should we do anything with his body?" Ruby asks, bluntly.

He grabs the 'Do Not Disturb' sign and opens the door.

There's a policeman at the door, knuckles raised to knock at the door. He lowers his hand, says, "Hello, I was called about a disturbance--"

Sam belatedly realizes that Dean's body is still lying behind him.

\- -

This isn't the first time Sam's been arrested, it isn't the first time he's been arrested since earning an FBI rap sheet, and it isn't the first time he's been sat across from Agent Victor Henrikson.

It is the first -- and only -- time he's been arrested when he knows that the arrest will go away in a few hours, things will resort back to normal, it doesn't matter what he says or does.

Henrikson asks him what happened.

Sam tells him.

= =

"You do realize that I had to haul ass to get here from--"

"Tulsa, yeah, don't care, let's go," Sam says, clicking his laptop closed.

Dean looks up from the trashy TV show he was watching. His eyes narrow, and he stands up. "What's she doing here?"

"Ruby, if you and Dean start arguing, the people in the next motel room over are going to call the police, and when you finally snap his neck, I'd prefer that you give us enough time to get out before the cops show up," Sam says calmly, sliding his laptop into his messenger bag.

Out of the corner of his eye, Sam can see Dean staring. "What--?"

Ruby snaps his neck.

Sam doesn't flinch this time.

Dean crumples to the ground, and Ruby looks up at Sam, almost nervous.

Sam has already slid his laptop into his messenger bag, and is putting the 'Do Not Disturb' sign on the doorknob.

"Should we do anything with his body?" Ruby asks, bluntly.

Sam goes and flips the TV on. "Put him on the couch." He turns the volume up loud enough where it would drown out knocking at the door, but not loud enough to foster complaints.

"So where are we going?" Sam asks.

\- -

They end up going west, to Assfuck, Florida.

It's a short drive, and almost pleasant. Ruby runs her hand over the interior of the Impala, wishes she could have shotgun more often. Sam would say something about how Dean would rather die first, but it's a bit of a moot point now.

There's an old run down occult bookstore on the outskirts of town. It's boarded up, but Ruby shows him a side door that's easy to break into, then which door leads into the basement, where the legitimate occult books are held.

There's a rickety table in the center of the basement, with a bare bulb above it, and Sam sets down his bag. Ruby sets down a thick tome next to it.

"This should have all the information you need on getting Dean out of his deal," she says, tapping the book. "Good luck," she adds, and then she's gone.

Sam pulls out his laptop, and starts translating.

= =

He's halfway through calling Ruby when he realizes that he doesn't need her anymore.

He knows where the bookstore is, knows how to get into it, knows what book to look for, he can go himself.

"I'm going to head out early," Sam says, after drinking a few sips of his coffee.

"Duck the tab, yeah, yeah, I know," Dean says, grinning around his pig-in-a-poke.

The first time Dean had said it, Sam had smiled, joked back. Now, Sam just grimaces -- it's the closest he's been able to get in a smile in a long time -- and heads out of the diner.

He had swiped the car keys from Dean, knows Dean would give him hell for it, but since Sam didn't take Mr. Pickett's keys, so he doesn't think Dean is going to be objecting any time soon.

\- -

He gets a call about an hour later. He glances at the caller ID, sees that it's from the Broward Country police department (either Sheriff Jones or Deputy Green, he can't keep their numbers straight), but he's just started translating the second chapter of dense Latin, and ignores the call.

= =

It becomes routine, like everything else in the day.

Heat of the Moment.

Rise 'n' shine, Sammy.

Gargling. This yours?

Tuesday, pig-in-a-poke.

Heading out (ducking the tab).

Drive to Assfuck, Florida.

Break into the bookstore, ignore the police department's call.

Translate.

= =

The fourth day after developing this new routine, he decides _fuck it_ , and instead of driving west towards Assfuck, Florida, drives east, to the ocean. He picks up two six-packs on the way, and when he gets there, he stores one in the trunk, tucks the other under his arm, and marches towards the shore. He toes off his shoes on his way, then his socks, and carefully sets down the beer before messily rolling up his jeans.

He opens a can of beer and starts drinking, then another, then another, and doesn't stop until he gets the call from the Broward County police department, this is Deputy Michael Green, is this Samuel Fogerty?

Sam says yes, listens as Deputy Green somberly explains that Dean was in an accident, Mr. Pickett, one of the more elderly citizens of Broward County doesn't have the best eyesight, which is no excuse for what happened, but...

Sam cries when Deputy Green says Dean is dead, because of course Dean is dead, Dean is always dead, he's been dying everyday for the past few weeks of Tuesdays (and the past few months before that), and Sam is trying to save Dean, he is goddamn _trying_ , but nothing is working, and he feels (fears, knows) nothing will ever work, and goddamnit, _goddamnit_.

He wipes his nose against the shoulder of his shirt, and once his breathing evens back out, carefully explains that he is drunk off his ass, and when he sobers up, he will drive back to Broward County to identify the body and start making arrangements.

Deputy Green thanks him.

Sam chucks his phone into the sea.

= =

He's on his sixth day, and he's racing against the clock.

He has two more pages to read.

There are two minutes to midnight.

(His eyes are drooping. He always falls asleep before midnight.)

Sam forces himself awake. It's Tuesday again, but it's early in the morning, before Dean has woken up.

He lies in bed for a few moments to think it over. He has two more pages left, it won't take long, if he could get up and out there, he could finish the translations, he could finish the spell. If he could finish the spell today, he could save Dean today.

But his work has been reset, and although he still has the knowledge, he needs the translations.

He needs to head out there, do a bit more work, needs a few more hours.

But if Sam is gone when Dean wakes, Sam will probably get progressively more and more frantic calls, which will just distract him from the work he's doing. Chances are, by the time he finally gets done, Dean will have probably died.

It almost seems better to nip it in the bud.

Sam picks up his pillow, goes to the other bed, and slowly smothers Dean to death.

\- -

He arrives at Assfuck, finishes the last two pages.

He allows himself a moment of disbelief -- then another of pride.

Then he starts memorizing the spell. He recites it to himself until it doesn't even sound like words anymore, gives himself a break, then keeps going for hours and hours until he falls asleep.

= =

Heat of the Moment.

Rise 'n' shine, Sammy.

Sam recites the spell to himself, stumbles over the order of two sentences.

You just going to stay in bed all day?

It is an exact spell. He can't remember which sentence comes first.

Dude. Asia.

He doesn't want to, but he needs to check the text.

Sam mumbles something vague about needing the car, takes the keys, drives west.

Finds out the proper order of the sentences. His heart is in his throat. He recites the spell.

Waits a few minutes, pulse racing.

He calls Dean, and his stomach sinks when it goes to voice mail once, twice, three times.

\- -

The spell is not one for rescuing one from the eventuality of hell-hounds.

It's for expediting the process.

= =

The moral of the story is this:

Dean is going to die.

(And in the end, Sam won't be that surprised if he ends up doing it himself.)

= =

"Sam, there's a lesson here," the Trickster says, later. He smiles sadly. "I'm glad you finally learned it."


End file.
